The Floral Comforter
by Kiki-Bunny
Summary: For Day 3 of Sweethearts week on lj. Alfred is stationed in England during WWII where he falls in love with a boy at a brothel. One shot.


**Title:**The Floral Comforter

**Author:** Maidearest (livejournal), RawrGodzirra (FF . net)  
><strong>Genre:<strong>Romance, Hurt/Comfort  
><strong>Pairing(s):<strong> USUK, Franada, Hungary  
><strong>RatingWarnings:**Allusion to sex, prostitution, non-graphic character death

**Prompt:**Sweethearts Week, Day 3:

**Word Count:** 5,050  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Alfred is stationed in England during WWII. When his friends find out about his virginity, they push him into buying a prostitute for the night. Of course, not having much money, he buys the cheapest one he can.

**Song Inspiration:**Raise Your Weapon – Deadmau5

**Notes:** This has nothing to do with my Love is This AU. I never expected it to turn out so long… It's probably going to be my longest one-shot yet, haha. I hope you all enjoy this depressing, self-indulgent mess of a fic. I tried to keep the details about the war vague, because I didn't want to go in to deep with the battles and stuff. If I have offended anyone with the blatant abuse of history or anything military related, please forgive me. It was not my intention do so such. Also… I hate the ending. It was written in a bit of a rush and I apologize. :(

Alfred was a soldier. He was being trained to be fearless, brave, and heroic. The life of a soldier was dedicated to his country and his people. He wanted nothing more than to end this war and wring Hitler's neck with his own hands. He took all of this very seriously, on and off duty.

So, why did he feel as if he were the only one?

It was true that, in front of the commanders, they followed orders to a T, ran faster, pushed harder, stood straighter and yelled louder. Then, when everyone of authority had disappeared, soldiers slowed, postures slumped, and contraband was brought out with a snigger.

He bunked with a rather flirtatious Frenchman, Francis Bonna-something, and his Canadian cousin, Matthew (who seemed to be the Frenchman's prey. He always knew the French were a little off as a culture). Francis was leaning close to Mattie, offering him some of the wine he brought in.

"Ah, n-no thank yo—" Matthew began, but Francis would hear nothing of it.

"But, _mon cher_, don't you think we should have a little _fun_ in these times of war?" he waggled his eyebrows, "You seemed to enjoy it enough la—"

Alfred cut him off with a cough, "I'm _right here_. I don't want to hear about whatever the hell you do when no one's around."

Matthew was flushed bright red and looked about ready to implode on himself. Francis scoffed, "What would you know about _l'amour_? You probably are a virgin still." Francis laughed that obnoxious laugh of his, and Alfred wanted to punch him in the face.

"Ain't nothing wrong with waiting for someone you truly love." Alfred defended himself.

"No one waits these days." Francis replied condescendingly. Matthew smacked the Frenchman, saying something in that damn language Alfred didn't understand a word of.

"Well, what if I am?" Alfred challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

Francis laughed again, "Then you will disappoint your future wife."

Alfred stood up abruptly, "Well, it'll be her first time too, so it won't matter."

"How can you be so sure? Women are experienced these days."

In his frustration, Alfred stomped out of the bunkhouse, hearing Matthew calling him back and berating Francis.

He noticed some of the trainees heading into the main city, probably to dance with some women and get drunk.

_Why the hell not?_ Alfred huffed to himself and headed followed behind them.

Alfred felt incredibly out of place among the couples in the street. Whether they were friends or lovers, he felt he was the only one alone. It was getting late, and all he'd done was go back and forth between bars where he drank nothing.

Francis' words were still ringing in his ears. _No one waits anymore._ What a lie! Of course some people still waited. I mean… the churches preach that kind of thing, and girls are suckers for what the pastor says and the boys who listen to them.

But what if the bastard was right? What if all girls were actually experienced, and then he comes along (a virgin) and completely makes a fool of himself? He sighed, realizing that he had long forgotten where he was wandering, but the seeing scattered people in military uniforms was a bit comforting.

Alfred sighed, turning into a building he saw another person go into. It was run down and dank, and he wondered if it was another bar.

As soon as he walked in, he realized it was just a poorly kept hotel. The woman at the desk noticed him, and grinned, "Hi there! Are you a customer?"

Alfred jumped at her cheery voice. It was incredibly out of place in such a dank building. In fact, her entire being didn't match the odd feel of the place. She was a bright-eyed figure with long, gentle auburn curls and green eyes that practically lit up the dusty room.

Alfred was a bit thrown off, "Ahh, no ma'am, I was—"

The woman cut him off brightly, "Do you want to be? We have openings today. I mean… they're not the best, but they get the job done if you're in a pinch!"

Alfred stumbled over his words, "O-openings…?" he intoned, and the girl laughed.

"Are you lost, young man? You _do_ realize where you are, right?"

"No?"

The woman's smile widened a fraction, "Aww! Are you a virgin?"

"Why does everyone keep bringing that up today?" Alfred groaned, then something occurred to him.

He should have realized.

"We have a special for virgins, you know. I know just the person to assign you to."

It was a whorehouse. Alfred couldn't believe his terrible luck—first he'd been patronized about his interest in sex and now he, an honorable soldier, had wandered into a den of filth and sin.

Still, Alfred was tempted as he saw fellow soldiers flitter in and out, giving him odd looks if they recognized him. He swallowed thickly.

"F-fine…" he answered with consternation.

Once proper payment had been given to the woman, she led him upstairs into a slightly more presentable hallway. Well, it would have been presentable if he couldn't hear the grunts and moans of the other patrons. He felt slightly sick to his stomach, and the young woman (Elizaveta, she had told him) gave him an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry." She heartened, patting him on the shoulder, "You've got nothing to be afraid of. All our employees are checked for any diseases, and they don't bite. Well, unless you want them to." She giggled at her own joke, but it did nothing to quell the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

She walked to a door and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked it quickly and opened the door. "I had a feeling you had no interest in women, so, here's a man for your enjoyment."

Alfred gaped, "Wh-what! Where would you get that idea! I have never found men attractive! I've never even th-" he was immediately cut off as the young woman put a finger to his lips.

"Perhaps only because you've never considered it an option. You've been restrained by society to think that women are the end all, be all, and never truly though about what _you_ wanted. That, my friend, is why you are still a virgin. Trust me—I know these things. I'm an expert in my field." She gave a jaunty wink, "Take as long as you need. You can stay until morning if you so desire! Maybe you'll become a regular of ours."

Alfred was about to fight back, tell her just how felt about her explanation and that he would _never_ be a regular, when he was pushed into the room. The door slammed behind him and he groaned, "Look, sir, I'm really sorry about this, I—"

His words trailed off when he turned around to look at the man that was supposed to service him that night. He was obviously short, even though he was sitting down on the bed, however, his legs looked long. Not just long, but smooth and pale too. The man's hair was a bit wild, but it added to his charm, and his eyebrows were rather thick.

It brought Alfred's attention to the pair of jewel colored eyes beneath them. They were narrowed with make up, and seemed to be unfocused, like the man was tired or something. Alfred couldn't blame him—he'd be tired too if men were being shoved in here every day. He was sitting comfortably upon what looked to be a comfortable floral comforter, and he imagined the man must be grateful for small kindnesses.

"It's quite all right," the man answered smoothly, "Straight men have come in here before. Just don't pay attention to the fact I don't have the correct anatomy." It was a lovely tenor and the accent was absolutely gorgeous.

Maybe Elizaveta had been right.

"Ah… well…" he approached the bed, and noticed the other's eyes weren't following him, but rather snapped to him once he sat down on the bed. He thought it was a bit strange, but didn't want to offend the other, "So… what's your name?"

The man raised a thick brow, "Arthur… why? Thinking of becoming a regular?"

Alfred laughed, "No. I'm just here for the time being." He gestured to his uniform, but the man's eyes didn't move, "I just… I don't know. It seemed like the thing to ask."

"Well then," Arthur chuckled, though it was dry, "Perhaps I could have the honor of knowing your name as well?"

"Ah! Uhm, yeah. It's Alfred."

"Alfred," the Briton purred, testing the words on his tongue, "Well, then, _Alfred_, what do you plan on doing with me tonight?" Arthur moved to sit on his knees and extended a hand. It landed on Alfred's shoulder and move up his neck to rest on his cheek. He guided Alfred's face towards him but left it up to Alfred to connect their lips.

Alfred sucked in a breath, and while having a decent knowledge about kissing, he was still a bit unsure. He connected their lips shyly. Their lips worked against each other slowly, building the passion at a gradual rate. Alfred moved so he sat completely on the bed and faced the Briton to kiss him without straining his neck.

Arthur broke it off with a small smirk. He let himself fall backwards and slipped back so that he was leaning against the pillows at the head of the bed. Alfred followed behind him after toeing off his shoes and pulling off his socks.

He took in the clothes of the other—obviously female lingerie, he noticed with a slight frown, in green and black to match Arthur's eyes. He expected them to be looking right at him, but instead, they were directed somewhere near his right. Alfred ignored the odd position of his eyes and crawled over to him so he was leaning over the smaller.

He claimed Arthur's lips passionately, and the other returned with just as much fervor. Heat began to pool in the pit of Alfred's stomach and he vaguely identified the feeling as desire.

He desired to claim this man as his own. It was a feeling he had never imagined having towards one of his girlfriends. It made his heart race that he was feeling something so strong towards a stranger—a prostitute of all people.

His hands began to roam the slender frame of the man in underneath him, feeling the jut of his hipbones and the flat, concave curve of his stomach. Arthur had a rather feminine figure for a man, if not a bit bulkier, and there was a slight indentation to his waist.

He was overcome with the desire to strip the man of every scrap of fabric on him, despite the fact the lingerie set left so little to the imagination. He broke of the kiss to tear off his own clothes with a speed he hadn't known was possible. His uniform shirt and wife beater were already off when the melodic voice of the prostitute caught his attention.

"So, you're not just here for a quick fuck, then?" Arthur's voice was slightly amused, yet slightly confused.

"Well, uhm… I mean… I'm just…" Alfred began, apprehension returning at full force.

"A virgin, then?" Arthur supplied, and Alfred nodded.

"I'm taking your silence as a yes."

Alfred brows furrowed, and wanted to comment that he'd nodded. Again, he refrained from saying anything, but ideas were flitting into his brain.

"Well, take your time, then. A rather strange choice for a first time, though." Arthur commented wryly, relaxing against the pillows.

Alfred sighed, removing his pants hesitantly. He crawled back over, self-conscious in just his briefs, but the other looked neither pleased nor disappointment. There was just the strangely neutral look in his eyes that had been there the whole time.

Alfred wavered before kissing him against, simply brushing the hair from the other's face. For the first time since they'd begun kissing, the smaller man's face flushed red. Really, that was all it took to make a prostitute blush? A simple act of tenderness?

"H-how do you want it?" Arthur asked quickly, trying to brush off his embarrassment.

"I was just thinking that we'd, you know… let passion guide us, and that junk?" Alfred tested and Arthur tilted his head slightly.

"Are all Americans this strange?" Arthur inquired with a wry smirk playing on his lips as he hooked his hands around Alfred's neck with a slight bit of difficulty.

"I think it's just me."

"Just kiss me, you fool." Arthur demanded and Alfred was happy to oblige that request.

The sex wasn't fantastic by any means. Well, Alfred enjoyed it, quite a bit, but it was obvious that he had been hurting Arthur in the process of it. After he finished, he must have apologized a thousand times to the prostitute, much to Arthur's annoyance.

"Alfred. It's fine." He groaned, distantly wondering why the other was still there.

"No, it's not! Sex is supposed to be fun for both people involved." Alfred pouted. He'd just finished finding the clothes he left strewn about the room.

Arthur scoffed, "Since when? Women have been complaining about sex for centuries." He explained, waving a hand around dismissively.

Alfred groaned, flopping on the bed next to the prostitute. The force against the springs caused Arthur to bounce about a foot into the air and yelped in surprise as he landed against the bed again, "Wanker!" He hissed, sitting up abruptly.

Alfred was about to laugh and make a joking comment about why he may not get any customers when he was stopped short. He looked at Arthur's eyes, really _looked_ at them. They were still vibrantly green as he had first noticed, but they were clouded and milky. He'd guessed the man had cataracts or something at first, but now, as the eyes were focused on a place that he _definitely _wasn't, his suspicions had finally come full circle.

"You're blind, aren't you?" Alfred's voice was hushed, solicitous for the man whose plight he truly couldn't understand. To be blind was one issue—to be blind and deal with people's whose actions were unpredictable was another thing.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, "I don't want your pity." His voice left no room for questioning and accomplished making Alfred feel guilty for feeling such a sentiment towards the man. The prostitute was prideful, strong, despite his occupation and condition. He carried himself as a man of worth, and perhaps he was in a very sick sense.

Still, the overwhelming compassion he felt was overriding common sense and the ideal he was forcing upon himself for Arthur. He reached over and pulled Arthur towards him to hold the Briton against his chest. Arthur went rigid in his arms and attempted to push the larger man away, "Are you deaf? I said I don't want your pity!" Arthur snapped and Alfred just held him closer.

"It's not pity." Alfred assured him, though he could feel the disbelief rolling off the other waves, "I'm just holding you."

Arthur huffed, "You're pitying me and I don't like it." While he protested, he snuggled further into the man's arms, "Are you expected to leave soon?"

Alfred hummed sleepily, "After a nap."

Arthur groaned, "Fine, but if you get in trouble, don't blame me." He stated.

Alfred stayed until morning.

A few months passed like this—Alfred would come by on weekends to spend the night with Arthur, and only Arthur. They prostitute and the soldier grew increasingly closer with each visit, maintaining a borderline friendship-romance with each other. Of course, as time went on, Alfred would actually be able to pleasure his lover. The first night he did, he practically cheered, causing Arthur to smack him on the hip since he couldn't find the other's arm.

Matthew and Francis gave him wry looks as he left each weekend to go to the whorehouse. Francis even had the gall to ask him about his "secret lover." Alfred would just grin and tell him that it was top-secret, and he would never know. The Frenchman would pout and complain to Matthew, who would push him away and tell him to act his age.

While he usually entered in a good mood, happy to be greeted by Elizaveta's warmth and the prospect of wonderful sex, this night was a bit more solemn.

He was being shipped off to another base soon. They had plenty of pilots here and Alfred was not needed. He would be leaving before next Friday.

Elizaveta sensed the mood as he walked in, her smile quickly dimming, "Are you leaving us soon, Alfred?" she asked, her usually cheerful voice marred with disappointment.

Alfred grinned sheepishly and mirthlessly, "Yeah… I'm going to be heading to France soon. They need more pilots."

She nodded, her lovely olive eyes misting over, "Well…" she began, swallowing back, "We want you to come back alive."

Alfred shook his head sadly, "I'm just a client. Neither of you should care so much."

Elizaveta laughed quietly, "Well, what can I say? We both have a thing for foreign boys." She handed him the key to Arthur's room and kissed him on the cheek, "Be safe, Alfred."

Alfred had to swallow back the tears her goodbye caused, and the anxiety of the next goodbye, "Yeah. I will. You too, okay?"

Elizaveta nodded, trying to smile brightly but it was dimmer than her normal grin would be, "Make this count. No charge for the evening."

Alfred bowed his head wordlessly and began to trudge to Arthur's room, feet like lead. He unlocked the door to see Arthur sitting in his normal spot on the bed. The Britons head was tilted downwards, staring sightlessly at the floral comforter.

"I heard." Arthur said before Alfred could get a word in.

Alfred bit his lip and sat next to Arthur, pulling the smaller into his arms, "I don't want to leave you."

Arthur gave a wan smile, wrapping his arms around the familiar body, "But you would have had to eventually. Don't be upset, love." He rubbed small circles into the soldier's back, hoping to relax the tense, shaking muscles.

"Arthur… I love you." Alfred blurted, and he could feel the other's body heat up slightly.

"Alfred, I—" Arthur was quickly interrupted.

"I know what you're going to say. I know you may not love me back, but I love you. I love you more than anyone in my entire life, and I wanted to tell you. You deserve to know and I deserve to let you know. I know I may just be another customer to you, and that's fine, but you mean so much to me, it hurts to think about it. If you want me to leave I—" Alfred's babbled was silenced as he felt Arthur's fingers trail along his face and onto his lips.

He looked down and saw that the Briton's face was completely red, but a small smile played on his lips, "Git, if you had let me get a word in edgewise, you wouldn't have had to get worked up over unrequited feelings." His fingers traced along the soldier's chapped lips, "I wanted to tell you that… that I… may have, somewhere along the road," Arthur took a small shuddering breath, "fell in love with you as well."

A mixture of emotions clenched at Alfred's chest painfully. Both the excitement and warmth that his feelings were returned, and the pain the he would have to leave before the relationship could blossom.

He pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's lips, which turned into several more increasingly passionate ones. They were slow and adoring, conveying every emotion they had tried to escape. Hands were tangled in hair and nails scraped along previously unmarried skin. They marked each other the best they could so the other would not forget.

Their lovemaking was calm and slow, neither in a rush to leave the perfect warmth that surrounded them. Alfred thrust into the smaller body reverently, attempting each time to hit the spot that made Arthur arch and gasp for breath.

Yet, as all good things must, it ended. It ended with tears and confessions and unsaid goodbyes. Neither of them was foolish enough to promise forever. Forever didn't exist these days.

Alfred left in the morning. Arthur was still fast asleep, worn out from the night's activities. Alfred couldn't help but think he looked like an angel, golden hair strewn out over the pillows, the scowl lines relaxed in rest.

He placed a kiss on the smaller's cool brow and whispered a goodbye as he left. A single tear marred Arthur's cheek as the door shut behind _his_ soldier, "Return to me, my love…"

The war had ended ten years ago.

He felt as if he had gone through hell and back. Every loud sound made him flinch, even though he was safely in America. As people praised him, thanked him for his service, he felt weak and useless. He didn't feel like a hero—he felt like a murderer.

It only made it worse to know that Matthew, his closest cousin, hadn't made it through the war. He'd watched as Francis held Mattie tenderly in his arms, begging him to stay awake in French and English. He prayed to God Alfred knew the Frenchman didn't believe in to spare Mattie's life, take him instead.

Matthew had spent his last breath declaring his love for that annoying Frenchman and went limp. Alfred had never seen such a broken look on a man as he had seen in those aquamarine eyes. If the gunshots weren't ringing in his ears, Alfred would have probably heard the man's heart break as well.

Needless to say, Francis didn't survive much longer after that. Distraction and heartbreak led to his demise on the battlefield, and Alfred didn't even have enough time to turn and check to see if he had died. If he wasn't dead then, he would have been soon enough.

Alfred almost envied both of them.

But he kept going, and he made it. He made it back home to his crying aunt and his ecstatic mother and father. They treated him like a hero when he felt so lost and so forgetful.

He felt as if he were forgetting something so vitally important. Something was niggling at his heart, making him feel so empty even after all these years were over.

Yet, that niggling something convinced him to go to school to be an optometrist. Something about eyesight made him want to fix it, and he just couldn't remember _what_ it was.

He drifted into the patterns of medical school, and soon after finishing early, of the actual treatment of the eyes. Though he knew it was next to impossible, he wanted to find a cure for blindness.

Yet, no matter how many eyes he fixed, he never got rid of the empty feeling in his heart.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get Dr. Jones to leave for a vacation. Alfred was vehement about staying put and just working, but the nurses were convincing. It was probably the quiet German nurse with golden hair and green eyes that did the most convincing, although she said next to nothing.

He'd entertained the thought of asking her out at one point, but something stopped him. Maybe it was because her hair wasn't light or short enough and her eyes weren't the right shade of green.

Eventually, he conceded and booked a flight to England, of all places. He vaguely remembered being stationed there for a while, but nothing much outside that. For some reason, he _knew_ something important happened there.

The flight was long and tedious, if not a bit nerve wracking. He hadn't been on a plane since the end of the war, and he wasn't appreciating being on one now.

The flight landed and he was more than happy to get off. He nearly ran to his hotel to sleep off his jetlag. He got to the hotel in record time. The city of London was still fixing itself from the bombs from ten years earlier but things were definitely shaping up for them

However, seeing some of the wreckage made his heart ache and he wasn't sure if it was for the people, or a specific person.

He didn't get much sleep once he readied his hotel room. Numerous hours were spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why his chest didn't just feel empty anymore. Ever since he'd arrived in London, there was an ever-persistent ache in both his heart and his head.

He was going to find what hurt his heart so badly about this city, even if he didn't really want to.

A week was spent sightseeing aimlessly. He was able to see all the large tourist attractions but felt no excitement upon it.

It was a little past dark then as he wandered one of the less congested back roads. It was dank and rubble was still lining the roads. He didn't even know if this really was London anymore, of he'd slipped into some sort of twilight zone.

He stopped in his tracks unconsciously and looked up. He was standing directly in front of a building that look very worse for wear, but very familiar. The ache in his chest burned at the sight.

Tentatively, he reached for the door handle, checking to see if it was unlocked.

The door slid open. Swallowing, he pushed it open the rest of the way.

Memories swirled into his mind of Mattie and his lover teasing him. He remembered running into the city and walking into this building to be greeted by a woman with a kind smile. He remembered the awkward first time with a man with golden hair just the right shade, and perfect green, sightless eyes. He remembered falling in love and he remembered a name.

_Arthur_.

However, no one sat at the counter in the front. There was no one to greet him with a bright smile and lewd suggestions about romance.

"Hello?" he called into the dusty building. There was no answer and he walked in further.

He trudge up the familiar staircase and to a well known room that had always been locked before.

It wasn't locked.

Alfred swallowed and looked around the disconcertingly empty room. It was dusty and lonely; the floral comforter that he'd snuggled under with Arthur missing from the unused bed. The dressers were covered in a layer of filth and debris. His heart sank in his chest.

"You're a little late."

The sound of a familiar voice rang in his ear. He turned, staring at an aged vision of Elizaveta. He walked forward and they captured each other in a friendly, grateful embrace.

"He thought of you every day while you were gone." She said with a sad smile.

Alfred paled and backed away just a bit, "You mean he…? He can't be…" the panic in his eyes was clear. Tears sprang to his eyes and pain gripped his chest. He finally remembers the thing he held dearest to him and it's ripped from him in such a painful, horrible way that he—

Elizaveta's giggling cuts off his thoughts. He's thrown off for a moment when Elizaveta spoke, "He's not dead, silly. Come, I'll take you to him."

The relief that filled Alfred's entire being as he was lead away was astounding, "How did you know I was here?" he asked once she dragged him outside into the foggy streets. His voice was hushed with awe and anticipation.

"Simple. I check everyday at this time. I have for the past ten years since we shut down the whorehouse."

Alfred felt a bit guilty. Had he really been so greatly missed for so long?

The walk didn't take very long—maybe fifteen minutes. It was spent mostly in anxious silence. The home he was taken to was quaint; a typical London townhouse decorated with pastels and pictures. She smiled, "It's nice, isn't it. I was going to wait for my husband to come back to buy it, but…" her eyes dulled a bit, and he could guess the cause of her sadness.

He put a hand on her shoulder as she began to shake a bit. She took a deep breath and the smile was back in place, "Are you ready to see him, or do you need a moment to compose yourself?"

"I'm ready." Alfred answered without a moment's hesitation.

She pointed to a door, "It's unlocked. Walk right in and save your damsel." She grinned and Alfred couldn't help but smile in return.

The walk to the door felt much longer than it actually was. He swallowed and opened the door.

For the first time in ten years, his heart ceased to ache. There, sitting on a all-too-recognizable floral comforter was the man he loved.

"Who is it?" Arthur asked and that as all it took for Alfred to practically run forward and nearly tackle the other with an embrace.

He could feel the other freeze in his arms and begin to panic. He backed up slightly and pulled the other's face into his hands, "Arthur. Arthur, it's Alfred. Do you remember me?"

The other's panicked look soon turned to confusion, then from confusion to a mixture of surprise, happiness, and something else he couldn't recognize, "A-Alfred… y-you bloody git! I've been waiting for so long… I was so sure you'd died…" he buried his face into the crook of Alfred's neck and shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'll never leave you again." Alfred promised, pulling Arthur into his lap and rocking him gently.

Arthur smiled against the fabric of Alfred's skin, now mysteriously wet, "I'll hold you to that promise."

They spent the rest of the night spooned underneath the bed sheets, happy to be sharing warmth with each other once again. They talked about nothing and everything, even their silence saying volumes.

And as they left the next day, with Elizaveta's tearful goodbyes behind them, Alfred finally felt like a true hero.


End file.
